


apple of my eye

by lecornergirl



Series: apple of my eye universe [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3+1 fic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Food Fight, but like... a really lacklustre one, i can't believe i forgot to tag modern AU when i first posted l m a o, or then a conspiracy by google to lie to all of us? i guess, the apple thing is real i promise, weird greek mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecornergirl/pseuds/lecornergirl
Summary: He catches the apple, but only barely, reflexes still a little slow from sleep. “Careful now, princess,” he says with a wink. “You just asked me to marry you in Ancient Greek.”“You’re making that up,” Clarke demands, but something funny is happening in her stomach. It’s like the feeling she gets before jumping off the higher diving platform at the community pool, or before a soccer game, or just before a rollercoaster flies down the biggest hill.OR: three times Clarke threw something at Bellamy, and one time Bellamy threw something at Clarke.





	apple of my eye

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know about you guys but i just really wanted some bellarke positivity after 5x01 ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> also wow look at me go posting three different ships within a month
> 
> idk i've wanted to write about the apple thing for literal years and now i finally did! which also means i've had years to come up with a better title but that's still the best i could do

_one._

The first time Clarke throws something at Bellamy, it’s the first day of summer and she’s in his kitchen. She’s nine years old, like his sister, and he’s fourteen, and they have the whole summer ahead of them, free to do whatever they want, whenever they want, as long as a parent says it’s okay. Clarke mostly plans to spend the summer with Octavia, but she knows Bellamy will be there too, looking out for them and only sometimes being annoying, like always.

Mornings after a sleepover always go the same way. Octavia will sleep as long as you let her, but Clarke rises with the sun, slipping out of the room and heading to the kitchen with a book. The first few times she stayed at the Blake house, she’d just lie quietly in her sleeping bag until Octavia woke, but the house has long since been like a second home to her, and she’s as comfortable here as in the house she grew up in.

Bellamy usually shows up some time after her with a book of his own, and they sit at the kitchen table in companionable silence. They’re not friends, exactly, because Bellamy is almost in high school and Clarke is his little sister’s best friend, but post-sleepover mornings are theirs alone. Sometimes, Clarke is reading something he’s read before, and he’ll ask her about it, tell her what he thought about it, tease her with spoilers but never actually ruin the book. He’ll recommend books to her, sometimes getting up to fetch his own copy when he has one, trying his best to expand her horizons. She puts a slice in for him when she makes toast for herself, and he lets her try his coffee—but she’s nine, so she spits it out with a grimace. They talk about school, sometimes, and life, and they’re not friends, but she knows he’ll have her back if she ever needs it.

On the first day of summer, she’s barely cracked her book and settled in when he shows up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and setting a worn copy of _The Hobbit_ on the table. She knows he’s read it before, but he likes to come back to it every summer.

He greets her with a smile, makes a cup of coffee before sitting down, opens his book. He’s in the middle already, and she knows he must have started it last night, as soon as it was officially summer. Dork.

He can’t have read more than a page or two before he looks up again and asks Clarke to pass him an apple from the fruit bowl behind her.

“You were just standing right here, you couldn’t get it yourself?” she asks, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t want an apple when I was there!” he protests, and Clarke laughs, reaching behind her to grab an apple. Instead of handing it to him, she throws it at his head.

He catches the apple, but only barely, reflexes still a little slow from sleep. “Careful now, princess,” he says with a wink. “You just asked me to marry you in Ancient Greek.”

“You’re making that up,” Clarke demands, but something funny is happening in her stomach. It’s like the feeling she gets before jumping off the higher diving platform at the community pool, or before a soccer game, or just before a rollercoaster flies down the biggest hill.

“Swear I’m not!” Bellamy insisted. “Okay, so, there was this goddess, her name was Eris, and she was basically really into people arguing. There was a wedding she wasn’t invited to, and she got mad, so she took an apple and carved the words ‘to the most beautiful one’ on it, and threw it at the wedding. So three of the goddesses that were invited, Aphrodite, Athena, and Hera, were fighting over who it was meant for, so they got Paris of Troy to decide, and basically Aphrodite bribed him by saying she’d make this girl Helen fall in love with him, so Paris decided it was her and apples became a symbol of Aphrodite. Which meant that throwing apples at people became a declaration of love. Oh, and the whole Helen thing also started the Trojan War, but that was less about the apples.”

Clarke stares at him for a second before bursting out laughing, gasping out “Oh my god, you’re such a nerd” between giggles.

Bellamy tries to glare, but it only holds for about three seconds. “I feel like you already should have known this,” he points out, mild. “Or did you miss the part where I named my sister after a Roman emperor’s sister?”

“You have a point,” Clarke says, and dissolves into laughter again.

 

 _two_.

She’s fourteen the first time he notices how pretty she is, and he immediately shoots himself down. She’s fourteen, just going into high school, and he’s not going to be that guy. Even if he knows that it’s not just about how pretty she is, since he’s fairly sure he knows her better than anyone in the world, with the exception of Octavia. He’s still not going to be that guy.

Which is just as well, because a week later when he wanders into the kitchen, she’s waiting for him.

“So, uh, I have a question,” she starts, and his heart skips just a little before he gets a grip on himself. _She’s fourteen, you’re not doing this_. _Don’t be gross._

“How serious do I need to be for this conversation? Should I make coffee first?” he’s trying to lighten the mood, but she just pushes a full mug at him. “Okay. What’s up, princess?”

“Finn asked me out.” His gut twists, but he keeps his face blank. _Don’t be gross. This is not about you. Also, don’t be gross._ She doesn’t continue immediately, but he’s had enough post-sleepover mornings with Clarke to know she’ll get to the question when she’s ready. 

It’s not even a minute before she does. “I just… this is my first date and I just—I guess I don’t really know what to expect.” It’s faster than she normally talks, a little mumbled, and he can’t tell if she’s more embarrassed about asking him, or about having the question in the first place.

“Do you like him?” he asks, and she ducks her head on a smile. “Okay, so that’s a yes. We’re going to assume he likes you, because he asked you out, so that’s some critical factors covered. Where’s he taking you?” He thinks he’s doing pretty well at the whole don’t-be-gross thing.

“Um, just dinner and a movie, I think.” He’d never tell Clarke, but Bellamy pretty much considers Finn to be the human equivalent of untoasted toast. He has nothing against Finn, really, it’s just that Finn is the most boring person he’s ever met. So dinner and a movie, the most basic date known to all of humanity, seems like par for the course. 

“Okay, so, all you have to do is eat dinner and watch the movie.”

Clarke picks up a cold french fry left over from last night and throws it at his head. “I’m asking you for help, asshole!” she says, indignant.

“I am helping!” Bellamy protests. “Listen, Clarke. All you _have_ to do is eat dinner and watch the movie. And I mean technically you don’t have to do those either, you can bail whenever you want, but you said you like him so I’m assuming you’re going to want to stay. All I’m saying is, like, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know? If he tries to kiss you and you don’t want that, you don’t have to do it just cause you said yes to going on a date with him.”

Clarke’s looking at the table again. “What if I do want that?”

Bellamy is wholly unprepared for this conversation, but in hindsight he really should have seen it coming. He’s talked Clarke (and Octavia) through any number of things, so it makes sense this would be one of them. That doesn’t mean he knows what he’s supposed to be saying, though, so he goes for the closest thing to the truth he can remember.

“Then you kiss him, princess,” he says, and his tone is impossibly gentle. “Look, it’s probably going to be weird at first, and you’re probably not going to know what you’re doing, but you’ll figure it out together. That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

Clarke smiles, and his heart only constricts a little. _Don’t be gross_. _Also, it’s only her first date, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be a lasting relationship… but also, don’t be gross._

She makes them both some toast and goes back to her book, but he can tell there’s something else still on her mind. A few minutes later, she speaks up again. “Bellamy… what if he doesn’t like me?”

The twist in his chest at those words has nothing to do with his problematic attraction to her, and everything to do with the vulnerability in her eyes.

“Clarke. Hey, Clarke, look at me. Finn asked _you_ out. Trust me, he likes you.”

She still hasn’t actually looked at him. “How do you know?”

Bellamy figures he might as well go for the truth. “He’d be crazy not to.”

 

 _three_.

The first summer Clarke comes home from college, she isn’t sure how well she’s going to fit back into her hometown. She and Octavia went to different colleges, and they’ve been staying in touch over text and social media, but it’s not the same, and she doesn’t know how their friendship looks after nine months apart.

Octavia texts her the day after she gets home, inviting her over for their traditional beginning-of-summer sleepover, and Clarke knows she’s being stupid. She and Octavia have been best friends since they were five, and college isn’t going to change that.

She’s not as sure about Bellamy, though. By the time she graduated high school, Octavia was so busy with judo practice—and, it turned out halfway through the year, her judo coach—that Clarke ended up spending more time with Bellamy than his sister. But then September came, and she moved away, and while she texted Octavia almost every day, her online interaction with Bellamy was mostly limited to tagging each other as types of pasta, or types of cleaning product, or types of breakfast cereal in the comment sections of various Facebook pages.

So she’s relieved when, the next morning, it’s not even half an hour before he’s joined her in the kitchen, like it’s only been a week since the last sleepover and not nine months. He starts making coffee, and she puts two slices of toast in the toaster, and it’s just like old times, except for the part where he’s shirtless and she’s suddenly very aware of it.

She’s always known he was attractive, but before it was in the context of “oh my god, Clarke, your best friend’s brother is hot”. Now it’s _oh my god, my best friend’s brother is hot_ , the thought knocking around with the knowledge that he’s also one of the best people Clarke knows, her second-favourite non-relative after Octavia, and _oh my god how long have I been into Bellamy?_ So… that’s a thing.

Bellamy doesn’t seem to notice the seismic shift that’s just occurred, but when Octavia appears in the kitchen two hours later, she takes one look at Clarke and raises her eyebrows. Clarke pretends she doesn’t see, but as soon as Bellamy leaves, Octavia tugs Clarke’s book down and levels her with a glare that would make lesser beings cower.

“So, I’m giving it two weeks before you bang my brother,” she says, conversational as anything.

Clarke opens her mouth to deny it, but what comes out instead is “did you know I was in love with him? Because I didn’t.”

Octavia looks at her with a mix of pity and amusement. “It’s okay, I don’t think he does, either. But like I said, I give it two weeks.”

If she stays over more often than usual those first two weeks, no one says anything. Bellamy’s still there every morning, and she’s not an expert, but it feels like over time, the tone of their conversations changes. They’ve always teased each other, trading insults with no real bite, but it feels different now. Octavia says it’s sexual tension, but she doesn’t dare hope.

What she does dare is to switch from flannel pyjama bottoms and old t-shirts to tank tops and shorts. It’s an underhanded move, sure—hitting below the belt, if you will—but if he’s going to go around shirtless, she’s going to retaliate. He doesn’t say anything about it, but she hears him trip over his ‘good morning’ the first time he sees her new attire.

It’s the second morning of a prolonged sleepover when he sets his book down on the kitchen table, goes to make coffee, and asks, “aren’t you guys getting a little old for multi-day sleepovers?”

She doesn’t have a response, at least not one that doesn’t heavily insinuate a sleepover with him, so she grabs an orange from the fruit bowl and lobs it at his head instead, scoffing. He catches the orange, and Clarke’s breath catches as a scene from ten years ago flashes in her memory, her throwing an apple at him in this very kitchen. She doesn’t have long to dwell on the memory, however, because there’s a dangerous glint in his eye and a few seconds later he’s thrown a piece of toast at her, and it’s _on_.

It’s not the most efficient food fight, because there isn’t actually all that much food lying around in the kitchen, so it’s mostly just the two of them tossing the same orange back and forth at each other and trying to dodge, with occasional guest appearances from bits of toast and forgotten scraps from the previous night’s dinner. Until Bellamy opens the fridge and emerges with a bottle of whipped cream.

Clarke knows it can only end with whipped cream somewhere on her person, but she makes a perfunctory run for it anyway, out the kitchen door and into the backyard. She’s only made it a few steps on the grass when Bellamy tackles her. They go down; she ends up on her back with Bellamy sprawled across her, and the tension is entirely higher than warranted by a silly food fight.

He’d pressed the nozzle on the whipped cream as they fell, and Clarke can feel it on her face. Bellamy is staring at her with an expression she can’t read, and she can feel his warm breath on her face, when suddenly he licks the whipped cream off her nose.

Clarke freezes, and he pulls back for a second. He’s on the verge of an apology, but his expression is clear as day, now, and it’s like on some level she always knew they would end up here. “Hi,” she whispers, and pulls him down. His face gets covered in whipped cream as they kiss, but neither of them really cares.

Above them, a window opens, and Octavia’s voice carries out of it: “told you I’d give you two weeks.”

 

+ _one_.

Bellamy’s been toying with the idea for a while. It’s unquestionably, irrevocably cheesy, but he can’t think of any other way he wants to propose to Clarke. And he really wants to propose. 

It’s the first day of summer, fifteen years after that first one. He’s not sure about the exact date, but it’s close enough, and he’s pretty sure she’ll get the point.

He’s awake before her, for once, so he puts on a pot of coffee and sits at the table, reading the paper. It doesn’t take long before she joins him, and he gives her some time first, to have a cup of coffee and eat some toast, to wake up properly. 

Finally, when he can’t wait any longer, he clears his throat. “Hey, Clarke?” 

She looks up, no idea what’s coming. He can’t think of anything to say, so he just pulls out the apple he’d stashed in his pocket earlier and tosses it at her.

Clarke fumbles the catch.

She looks up, eyes wide. “Oh my god, Bellamy, was that—did you just—did I—” 

He can’t help but laugh.

“No, don’t laugh, Bellamy, tell me that was what I thought it was.” He tries, he really does, but he can’t stop laughing, because he knows that Clarke has the worst hand-eye coordination of all time and he just tried to propose to her by throwing fruit at her head. It seemed like a great idea at the time, but in retrospect… maybe not the best plan.

She seems to realise it too, because she’s laughing as well, until they’re both clutching the table from laughing too hard.

When they finally manage to calm down and catch their breath, she picks up the apple from where it had fallen. “Let’s try it this way,” she says, and throws it at him. “Marry me, asshole.”

He catches the apple.

**Author's Note:**

> lowkey i now want to write a social media AU that's just bellarke tagging each other as different types of pasta and shit
> 
> maybe one day


End file.
